Shen Mo watched her for a moment, raised an eyebrow, and satisfied, continued reading his book.
“…” While the two were chatting, Fang Shaojun, though she kept her head down, didn’t draw a single stroke. Her lips occasionally pursed and flattened—her emotional state clearly reflected in these subtle movements.
“…” Lu Yunfei acted as if he hadn’t heard anything, continuing to alternately observe and draw.
“…” Qian Chong silently grumbled, his anger simmering without expression.
After a while, Shen Mo took another sip of water.
He was getting restless again.
He raised his head, glanced at Hua Jie, and said:
“Tell me a short story, otherwise I’m going to take a walk.”
Lu Yunfei immediately tensed up. The morning light was constantly changing, and they needed to capture the shadows and light quickly.
If Shen Mo took a walk now, they could lose more than ten minutes, and the light might completely change by the time he returned.
With that thought, Lu Yunfei turned his expectant gaze back to Hua Jie, his eyes filled with hope.
Seeing such a look, Hua Jie felt as though the hopes of the whole village suddenly rested on her shoulders.
She pursed her lips, thought for a moment, then began to paint as she had planned while she started her story:
“Let me tell you a Western story.”
“In the West, there’s a concept known as the SCP Foundation, a place of utmost secrecy, entirely closed off from the public.”
“This is an unconventional prison that contains various mysterious creatures and objects, categorized by their danger level into extremely dangerous, moderately dangerous, and non-dangerous. The facility itself changes form based on the characteristics of what it holds.”
“Moreover, in order to study these mysterious entities, scientists use death row inmates and the like as test subjects, referring to them as ‘D-Class’ personnel.”
“After many years of research, the number of mysterious entities they have contained has grown, and so has the volume of documented research.”
“That’s the background.”
“Among the contained items, there’s a nondescript black leather-bound book known as ‘The Unfinished Chronicle,’ cataloged as SCP-140.”
“Whenever there are ink, paint, blood, or any other writing substances nearby, it can write on its own.”
“The book chronicles a civilization called ‘Daeva,’ which revered military power, practiced cannibalism, knew witchcraft, and was aggressively expansionist—very dangerous.”
“Originally, this civilization was supposedly destroyed by the armies of the Chinese general Qin Kai, and the chronicle ended there.”
“However, when SCP-140 was discovered, some personnel bled near it, and it immediately absorbed the blood to write a new history: a faction of the Daevas had escaped annihilation, relocating to the heart of Siberia, where they were eventually exterminated by Genghis Khan.”
“Simultaneously, researchers discovered that, suddenly, the central region of Siberia, previously devoid of any archaeological findings, was now filled with remnants of Daeva civilization.”
“The doctors realized that if they allowed the chronicle to keep writing, the Daeva civilization could potentially persist into the present day. And if that happened, the cannibalistic, witchcraft-practicing Daeva could bring unimaginable disaster to modern humanity! It was too frightening to even contemplate!”
“The researchers immediately classified SCP-140 as ‘Keter’, which means it’s of the highest danger level, and isolated it from any substances that could be used as ink to ensure it was contained permanently.”
“Furthermore, anyone who had come into contact with SCP-140 and showed signs of obsession was to have their memories erased and be permanently reassigned away from the project.”
After Hua Jie finished the story, not only was Shen Mo captivated, but Qian Chong and Lu Yunfei also showed great interest.
In the millennium before computers became widespread, even if families like Qian Chong’s had a computer, it was nothing like the explosive online environment of later eras.
They had never encountered stories like SCP or Cthulhu, and naturally found them thrilling.
The story was short, but they listened with keen interest and used their imaginations to enrich the interactions with SCP-140, finding it fascinating.
“Tell another one,” Shen Mo requested.
So, Hua Jie narrated another famous SCP, almost like a mascot of the SCP universe, SCP-173.
She also told them about the ‘Cursed Snake Statue’, ‘Zero Locusts’, ‘Just a Chair’, and ‘Deal with the Devil’.
While telling ‘Deal with the Devil’, she noticed Qian Chong’s eyes almost shining with excitement, recognizing that such cool and quirky content was irresistibly appealing to boys like him.
With a thought, she stopped halfway through the story.
Shen Mo, too, was engrossed and was about to ask her to continue when he saw Hua Jie winking and silently mouthing to him:
“I’ll tell you separately later.”
“…” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue further.
The little girl had learned to keep people in suspense. Did she think he was like the king in “One Thousand and One Nights” who married a new woman each day and executed her the next morning?
If he wasn’t kept hooked by a story, would he have to ‘execute’ her?
Though he inwardly scoffed, seeing Qian Chong’s eager expression wanting to hear more, Shen Mo suddenly felt at peace.
Let it be. Let others listen to her stories for free.
Why should those interesting little tales in her belly be given away to those whose faces he couldn’t even remember?
They were supposed to be told only to him.
With this thought, Shen Mo was no longer in a hurry.
He even leisurely shook his legs and picked up his copy of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” again.
Qian Chong waited and waited, several minutes passed, and he heard no continuation of the story. The abrupt end of Hua Jie’s tale tormented him, itching and aching with curiosity, clawing at his insides. Yet, given their strained relationship, he could only grit his teeth and bear it.
But after a few more minutes of stifling patience, he reached his limit and turned around somewhat awkwardly to ask:
“So… what happens next?”
“…” Hua Jie glanced at him, her look filled with a multitude of emotions, as if unloading all their past grievances onto Qian Chong.
“I need to concentrate on my painting now. Do you want to hear more? Maybe you can ask me after I’m finished, though I might not agree.”
Qian Chong’s face flushed with both anger and helplessness.
Turning his gaze away, he resolved that once back in Jinsong City, he would visit the library to find books about SCP.
Suppressing his curiosity and anger, he ground his teeth as he painted, his strokes inadvertently gaining force.
If the paintbrush could speak, it would probably cry out, “Ah, you’re squeezing me too hard!”
Hua Jie secretly reveled; if Qian Chong kept bothering her for no reason, she would continue her policy of ‘eat, sleep, and torment Qian Chong,’ fighting him to the end.
Shen Mo glanced at Qian Chong’s frustrated expression and then at Hua Jie, who had returned to her painting with focus.
What harm could Little Potato have in mind?
She was full of mischief.
Shen Mo knew that Little Potato never took bullying lying down; her soft appearance was deceiving. Anyone daring to provoke her would face her relentless retaliation.
Still, he hadn’t expected her to be this formidable.
His father had once complained to Zhao Xiaolei about a disciple named Qian Chong, who was talented but unruly and arrogant, hardly manageable even by his own parents.
Now, it seemed, this self-important young man was completely under Hua Jie’s thumb. Look at him, about to explode with frustration yet unable to vent it, completely tamed.
His Little Potato, when it came to dealing with others, was truly extraordinary.
Shen Mo found himself unexpectedly proud, basking in the sun, reading his book, savoring the moments of his little deskmate bullying others, and looking forward to her telling him the rest of the story later, so content he almost wanted to hum a tune.
If Shen Mo were to see Hua Jie teasing Qian Chong with a fur vest she had won, he would probably think even more highly of Little Potato as someone brave enough to challenge and mock the bullies, leaving them wanting to cry but unable to shed tears.
After painting for a while, Lu Yunfei licked his lips, glanced at Hua Jie, and after a few seconds of silence, he finally sighed deeply, swallowing his curiosity back down.
Even though his relationship with Hua Jie was such that he might not get snapped at for asking, his personality meant that even if he was dying to know, he probably couldn’t bring himself to ask her to continue the story.
Forget it, he didn’t deserve to hear these kinds of cliffhangers.
Silently sighing again and again, Lu Yunfei, with the character for ‘endure’ metaphorically above his head, focused quietly on his painting.
After finishing her story and soothing Shen Mo’s mood, Hua Jie once again immersed herself fully in painting, her brush moving fluidly as she gradually brought her ideas to life on paper.
Although she still felt limited by her skills, unable to fully realize her imagination, she found the process thoroughly satisfying.
Every now and then, Shen Jiaru would set down the book and materials he was reading at the tea table to offer some guidance to the students.
But whenever he stood before Hua Jie’s painting, he seemed hesitant, as if pondering how to comment on her work.
Finally, when the time came, he clapped his hands and announced that the students could stop painting. Shen Mo finally jumped off his chair, stretching his already tall and handsome figure to make it even more striking.
Even the act of raising his arms caused his shirt to lift, revealing a glimpse of his flat, subtly muscled abdomen.
The sight of his waistline caused Fang Shaojun’s face to flush red in an instant.
Hua Jie glanced over and instinctively wanted to take a photo with her phone, only to remember, as her hand touched her pocket, that mobile phones didn’t exist yet, and she didn’t even have a basic pager.
The four students placed their paintings on a small stand inside where there was no direct sunlight. Shen Mo stood next to his father, evaluating all four paintings together.
Qian Chong’s style was always dark and cool; he painted Shen Mo as a dark god returning from battle, ready to exterminate all of humanity.
Lu Yunfei’s painting was extremely delicate, almost photorealistic, with bright areas and precise details, even capturing the young man’s impatience.
Fang Shaojun’s Shen Mo looked like a flawless beauty, his long eyelashes, the light in his pupils, the beautiful lines of his jaw, his slender fingers—every detail that women would tirelessly admire was meticulously outlined, each could be its own close-up.
And Hua Jie’s…
Shen Jiaru and Shen Mo, father and son, stared at her painting, their expressions almost identical, lips pursed as they were caught in deep contemplation.
Hua Jie’s depiction of the young man seemed to embody half divinity, half humanity.
The half of him bathed in the morning sun merged with the icy fog and sunlight as if descending from the heavens, still wreathed in mist. It also seemed as if he was about to shed his physical body, transforming into a soul or spirit about to ascend.
The half in backlight was delicate and realistic, maintaining a very accurate and rich spatial relationship with all the interior decor. He sat there so firmly that one could believe he was just like any other young man sitting in a room basking in the sun.
Yet, it was this treatment—the starkly different approaches to the two halves of his body—that lent the painting an ethereal quality, like a mural carved in a cathedral dome that holds bizarre stories, or a scene from a mythical tale.
It possessed a beauty of stillness, yet inexplicably held a dynamic tension that could not be anticipated.
Shen Mo had never thought he would be captivated by his own portrait.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the impulse to pull Hua Jie, this little genius, into his arms and tousle her hair playfully.
He admonished himself: No, no, no!
He closed his eyes tightly, his expression gradually becoming serious, finally starting to differ from his father’s.
Meanwhile, Shen Jiaru felt his blood boil.
Hua Jie’s bold attempt had once again stirred his inspiration and rekindled his primitive love for painting.
It was this ability, distinct from photography and different from everything visible to the naked eye, that allowed one to paint at will, to let the imagination gallop, to let the brush and paint in the painting hand go wild, to freely paint everything that exists or doesn’t in the world.
Let anger burn on the paper, let sorrow spill with the ink, let joy be brushed on thoroughly…
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and then released them.
With so much excitement stirring in his chest, once reason was restored, his brows furrowed again.
His expectations for Hua Jie were growing, and the desire to push her was becoming uncontrollable.
He no longer wanted to slowly nurture her growth; he wanted her to make bold strides forward, to be stricter in urging her progress.
Yes.
It could have been better!
Her talent could have been showcased more intensely.
She could have had more of a personal style, more flamboyance, more maturity, more natural skill, more effortlessly!
It’s still not enough! Still not enough!
The emotion that had been building in his heart for many days, the desire to rush her growth, was finally becoming uncontrollable.
He took a deep breath. No, he must not act on it yet. He had to hold back a little longer, at least until evening.
Hua Jie’s gaze shifted from Shen Mo’s face to Shen Jiaru’s, observing the teacher’s inexplicable expression, feeling a bit tense.
“Teacher?” she asked.
“…Yes.” Shen Jiaru nodded, thought for a moment, and then said:
“The way you handled the sunlight side, the tension should run from the left side of the painting to the figure. Since that’s the case, the direction of the water stains should also follow this line of tension. Currently, it flows from top to bottom, which somewhat disrupts the overall feel, slightly regrettable.”
“In future, you should be more careful and deliberate in these matters.”
“Everything else is fine.”
“…Ah, yes, thank you, teacher.” Hua Jie nodded.
With Shen’s critique, she now saw the flaw clearly, truly a bit regrettable.
While painting, she had been caught up in playing with the water, completely overlooking this aspect.
She clenched her fists in slight frustration.
“It’s alright, it’s not a major issue.” Shen Jiaru patted Hua Jie’s head reassuringly.
The look Shen Mo had been giving Hua Jie suddenly cooled as he stared at his father’s hand returning to his side, then withdrew his gaze, though his brows remained furrowed.
“Alright, take a break. You can wander around, just don’t go too far and definitely stay off the ice lake. If the ice isn’t solid and you fall in, I can’t explain that to your parents,” Shen Jiaru finished, clapping his hands, “Remember to come back in an hour for dinner.”
“Okay, teacher.” Only Hua Jie obediently responded.
Like a little schoolgirl respecting her teacher.
Shen Mo’s lips twitched into a smile, thinking indeed, of all these kids, Little Potato was the cutest.
Just as Shen Jiaru was about to turn to Hua Jie to ask her to stay and chat privately for a moment, he saw his son already taking the initiative, grabbing Hua Jie by the shoulders and leading her outside, muttering as they walked:
“Come for a walk with me, and you can continue the story you were telling.”
“…” Shen Jiaru.
Forget it, we can talk about it in the afternoon. There’s no rush at this moment.
As Hua Jie was pushed by Shen Mo to the entrance of the hall to put on her down jacket, hat, and gloves, and after they left the hall and disappeared behind the courtyard’s rockery, Shen Jiaru sighed.
As a teacher, wanting to discuss important matters with a student, yet having to wait in line behind his own son…
…Tsk.